


Origins

by YXxXxXY



Series: Gods of Lucis [1]
Category: FFXV - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Human! Reader, Some angst, astral! prompto argentum, little bit of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YXxXxXY/pseuds/YXxXxXY
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader, Prompto/Reader
Series: Gods of Lucis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853995
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

You met him by accident -- at least, you _ thought _ it was by accident. But you knew how the God of Fate liked to mettle with human lives. You had seen Fate twist many times with your own eyes, but you never thought that your own fate would be twisted.

You could only stare at the man -- no,  _ god  _ \-- before you; his lips were turned upwards in a gentle smile, the corners of his striking blue eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he watched the baby birds spread their wings.

“There you go, little one,” his voice was honeyed when he spoke. His tone was gentle -- kind -- as he helped the last bird fly out of the nest. He watched it’s wings stutter in the air before they began beating steadily, and the bird disappeared into the great blue sky.

Your breath caught in your throat when his beautiful eyes turned to you, his smile growing even gentler somehow. He didn’t approach you, only leaned against the tree at his back, arms crossing over his chest as he gazed at you.

“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they? Birds?” he queried, eyes briefly going to look up at the sky before coming back to you. You nodded numbly, not trusting your voice to work correctly in the presence of the god. He released a short laugh at your response, uncrossing his arms as he stood straight. You were captivated by him as he walked up to you, stopping close enough that you noticed the freckles dotting his cheeks. He was  _ beautiful _ ; with his straw blond hair, the fringe barely covering his right eye; the freckles making constellations across his face -- a stark contrast to his pale skin; eyes mimicking the ocean’s depths when he gazed upon you. He was thin -- not quite spindly, but neither was he filled out like some of the men in your village. But it suited him you supposed; even from the limited interaction with him, you could tell he was spryly built.

He wore a black tank top, over which was a sleeveless leather vest, and patterned pants embellished with patches. Gloves on each hand and bracelets on his left wrist. Your (e/c) eyes trailed to his right wrist, catching on the black codeprint on his skin. Without noticing it, you had taken a few steps closer, eyes trained on his wrist. He barked out a quick laugh before holding out the wrist.

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” he asked cheekily. You didn’t reply, only held to his wrist gently, examining the mark. You brushed your fingers over his skin, feeling the muscles in his arms reacting to your touch. With a small frown, he tried to take his wrist from you, but you held fast.

“Did it hurt?” you spoke, (e/c) meeting his deep ocean hues. His blond brows furrowed at your question, lips pursed slightly. His expression made your breath catch once more. You had thought he was beautiful before, but now he was absolutely stunning with the expression he now had. Taking your hands from him, you back-pedaled quickly, hands fisting in your shirt as you stared at the ground. “Sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he mumbled, eyes staring at his wrist -- staring at where you had touched him. As soon as you had touched him, he had felt a jolt travel up his arm, making him freeze for no more than a second before he had tried taking his wrist back. When you had tightened your grip on him, another jolt had made him slightly dizzy. It had taken nearly everything to keep himself standing, the feel of your hands against his skin as intoxicating as his friend’s alcohol.

Fuck, even  _ remembering _ your touch was enough to make his breathing kick up a notch. He tried to calm himself, tried thinking of anything but your touch, but he only managed to dig himself a deeper hole. You had been gentle when you held his wrist, your touch light as your fingers ghosted across the codeprint. His eyes drifted close, and he relived the small pearl of time you had been in contact with his skin. A shudder wracked his body, and his eyes opened to pierce you, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Prompto hadn’t really taken note of you earlier -- he had been too preoccupied with the birds, then with your touch, to  _ look _ at you. You were shorter than he was, only coming up to his shoulder, with (h/c) hair that fell to your shoulder blades in waves. He had gotten a good look at your eyes when you had looked at him, the things held in those (e/c) eyes making him melt. You had seen so much in your life, he could tell. You had seen so many people have their fates twisted by his friend, Noct.

_ Shit. _ Prompto grimaced, suddenly remembering his friend’s request. With nary a sound, he took in your appearance one last time before his body shattered into stardust, the smile unmistakeable on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where have you been?” Noct inquired when he saw Prompto walking up to the Citadel. The God of Fate wore a frown -- not that that was anything  _ new _ \-- as Prompto approached.

“Sorry, Noct!” the blond wheezed. “Got a little side-tracked!”

Noct gave his blond friend a withering look before sighing, running a hand through his dark hair. He turned on his heel, and Prompto followed after him. As they entered the Citadel, an arm wrapped around Prompto’s neck, pulling him into a headlock.

“Gladio, what the fuck?!” the blond screeched, trying to get the god off him. His fingers pried at Gladio’s arm, finally managing to get free. Sending the larger god a glare, he rubbed at his neck, watching as the amber-eyed male let out a raucous laugh. “Not cool, man. Not. Cool.”

“Hey, after how long you were gone, you deserved it,” Gladio howled, his smile still prevalent as he approached the younger god. Prompto’s brows furrowed, blue eyes turning to Noct.

“Was I really gone that long?” he asked the prince.

“Almost five hours, Prompto,” Ignis joined in, appearing from the throne room. “We were afraid that humans had captured you.”

Prompto cast his eyes to the marble floor, hand dropping from his neck. A grimace broke his face as he remembered that night, all those years ago. He didn’t speak, hands fisitng at his sides when another hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“You good?” Noct asked, concern shining in his steely gaze. Prompto sighed, giving the prince a soft nod before turning to Ignis.

“Sorry, Iggy,” he muttered, eyes drifting over the worried faces of his friends. “I just got distracted is all.”

“Well, we are glad you are safe,” Regis’s voice boomed through the Citadel’s lobby, and all four men turned to their king. “Welcome home, Prompto.”

“Thanks, Your Majesty,” the blond replied, trying to give the older god a carefree smile. Regis only pursed his lips, and -- to Prompto, at least -- it looked like he was trying to hide a smile.

***

You dropped the dish in your hand, the ceramic shattering against the ground. You had been this way since you had met that god in the forest, clumsiness overtaking your body whenever you would remember him.

_ I never got his name _ , you grimaced, kneeling to pick up the pieces when a sharp pain sprouted from your fingertip. Hissing in a breath, you watched blood well from the small cut, a frown on your face. Dabbing at the wound, you released a pent up sigh, hanging your head.  _ I should have asked for his name. Idiot _ .

“(Y/n)?” your sister’s voice floated from the living room. Creaking of leather was heard as the younger girl walked into the kitchen, seeing you kneeling on the ground and holding your injured hand. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” you assured her, waving her away as you stood in front of the sink. Putting your hand beneath the faucet, you hissed when the water ran over your cut. You bit your lip as you wrapped a piece of cloth around your finger.

As you went to turn off the running water, you couldn’t help but remember his eyes. They had been filled with a gentleness that had rivaled your mother’s, and his gaze had done things to you.

Oh, what you wouldn’t give to have the chance to speak with him again. To become enraptured by his eyes once more.

***

The Citadel was always quiet during the night, and it had never bothered Prompto before now. But since he met you, many things had changed. He rarely thought of anyone but you, of your fingers around his wrist, what it would feel like to—

Prompto groaned, rolling into his stomach and burying his face in a pillow. He knew that humans were dangerous creatures, but no one had told him about  _ this _ . Iggy had never told Prompto how beautiful, how …  _ sensual _ , humans could be. Fuck, the things he wanted to do to you — it made his blood sing with want. He wanted  _ you _ , a human woman. His brothers would think him crazy if he ever said it aloud.

Another groan tore from his throat, his member straining against his pants. 

“Fuck me.”

It seemed that, while his mind wanted you, his body  _ craved _ you.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleepless nights and busy days occupied Prompto’s time in Insomnia. The blond snorted, rolling his eyes. Of  _ course _ he’d be awake all night in  _ Insomnia _ .

“What a load of bullshit,” he hissed, kicking at the ground as he walked, glum expression on his face. He wanted to see you again --  _ needed _ to see you again. But he had been far too busy to make a trip to the mortal world. 

"Man, I need a vacation," Prompto grumbled, halting his steps as he looked to the sky. His lips pursed and blond brows furrowed, he sighed, shoulders going slack. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Why'd it have to be me?"

***

You had come back to the forest, hoping you'd get to see that god again. As you wandered through the trees, you took in everything around you. 

Just like that day, the birds were singing their songs, the sound echoing all around you. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above your head, casting shadows and light patches across the ground at your feet. Blooms in blues and purples rose from the earth around tree trunks, their stems waving with the wind.

A soft smile touched your lips as you knelt before one tree, fingertips brushing the silken petals of a cobalt blue flower. Your touch was delicate as you admired the flower, the color reminding you of a fair-haired god.

"Didn't expect a welcoming committee," a man's voice startled you, and you stood, whirling around with wide eyes. He stood with his shoulder leaning against a tree, a smirk on his lips. Despite the smirk, his features were soft. His eyes raked down your form, stopping on the cloth wrapped around your finger.

The golden-haired god approached you slowly, brows knitted together. His hand reached for yours, eyes lifting to yours in silent question. You relaxed your hand, fingers letting go of the fabric they held to so tightly. Seeing that as the go-ahead, the god took your wrist much like you had his. He unwrapped your finger gently, lips set in a tight line when he saw the slice.

"What happened?" he asked, touching the injury. The pressure made you pull away slightly, and his fingers gripped your palm just a bit tighter.

"Nothing," you mumbled, casting your eyes to the ground. "Just a stupid accident." His sigh reached your ears and he released your hand, reaching into his pocket.

"Here, this should help," he muttered, holding out a small glass container. You eyed it, making the god smile. "Don't worry, it's just a salve. My friend -- uh, the Goddess of Healing, gave it to me. I can be kinda reckless sometimes." An awkward chuckle fell from his lips as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to use it?" you asked quietly, hands fisting in the material of your shirt. You flinched slightly, forcing your grip to relax -- it was a habit from your childhood that you would rather not have.

"'Course it's okay!" he smiled, handing the salve to you. You bit your lip, trying to decide whether you should take him up on his offer, or if you should decline. But he didn't give you much time to decide, as he quickly grabbed your hand once more, already applying the salve to your finger. You watched him work, and were frozen by his beauty.

His shoulders slightly hunched as he held your hand steady, slight smile tugging at his lips. His cheeks were tinged a pale pink, making his freckles stand out that much more. Your eyes ghosted over his features. He had more freckles than you had thought, the pinpricks creating galaxies across the entirety of his face. Above his left eyebrow, at both corners of his mouth, and even on his jaw, he had more prominent markings -- but you couldn't tell if they were freckles or scars.

Eyes tracing the freckles across his nose, your lips turned downwards. A small, linear scar -- barely visible unless you knew what to look for -- cut through his speckled skin. Your eyes perused his face again, this time looking at it in a different light, when they caught on something.

There, slicing through the tail end of his left eyebrow, was another scar -- this one more jagged than the other. 

Your free hand was reaching towards him before you could stop it. Fingers grazed his nose, startling the god as his eyes shot up to look at you. His smile had slipped when you had made contact with the old scar, his fingers gripping your palm tightly.

With a frown, you watched as he took a few steps away from you, a hand going to cover the scar as he gave you a pained smile.

"See? Told you I can be pretty reckless," he hummed. His smile made you want to cry, to scream at the top of your lungs. It was such a sad expression that was on his face, and the pain filling his eyes was unmistakable.

"Who hurt you?" You whispered, stepping close to the god again. A hand cradling his face, you purse your lips. "Pain doesn't suit you at all, and yet that's the only thing I can see filling your eyes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's a bit short.

Prompto was frozen, caught in your eyes as they seemed to strip his soul bare. They pierced the young god, reflecting the pain he felt in his heart. Willing his smile to soften, he ruffled your hair like one would a child’s.

“Such a sympathetic little thing you are,” he cooed, watching your eyes widen in surprise. His heart thumped in his chest, spreading a dull ache throughout his torso as he stepped away. He gave her one last smile and was about to shatter when your hand gripped his.

“Wait! I’m sorry!” you panicked. “I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine, uh--”

“(Y/n).”

“It’s fine, (Y/n),” he smiled, eyes benign. He fought back the laugh rising in his throat when you looked to the ground, free hand picking at the hem of your shirt as the hand holding his let go, hanging limply at your side. Taking a step towards you, his fingers crooked beneath your chin and made you look him in the eyes. "Don't worry, Little Heart. We'll see each other again, soon."

Your eyes squeezed shut when his lips descended on your cheek. Your body went rigid, mind having trouble comprehending what was happening.

Your mother had always told you and your siblings that the gods were malevolent, looking down on mankind from their hidden city. But since meeting this god, you had begun to wonder if what your mother had said was true -- if _any_ of it was true.

When your eyes opened, you stood alone, encased in the sounds of the forest.

***

Prompto let out a long sigh, sitting with his back to his apartment door. His arms were crossed over his knees, head resting on his arms.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he chanted, fingers digging into his elbows. "Why did I kiss her? Fuck, I'm such a dumbass..."

The sudden knock at his back had Prompto jumping to his feet, schooling his expression as best he could before he opened the door. He didn't expect Regis to be standing on the other side.

"Your Majesty?" Prompto asked, confused. The king gave the blond a kind smile, and Prompto moved out of the way, letting the older god in. "Is everything alright, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Prompto, everything is just fine." Regis spoke calmly, and the tension in Prompto's shoulders melted away. Another sigh passed his lips as his blue hues met the king's gaze.

"You had me worried for a second, Your Majesty. I thought something had happened to Noct," the blond chuckled. His lips curled with a smile.

"How have you been, Prompto?" Regis asked after a beat of silence. Prompto's smile grew fonder at his king's question. "Have you been having problems as of late?"

"No, sir," the younger god responded. "The dizziness has gone away, and the headaches aren't as frequent anymore. I have you and Lady Medella to thank, Your Majesty." The blond drew his bottom lip between his teeth. "I just wish I could have thanked Lady Medella at least one more time.”


	5. Chapter 5

You stared at your fingertip, amazed. The cut was gone, leaving nothing behind to hint it was ever there. Twisting and turning your hand, you realized just how gifted the gods were. The thought made your insides twist with a mixture of awe and fear.

You had witnessed first hand the power of the gods -- a power you were taught to fear. Your mother had told you since you were young: the powers of the gods were horrid, decrepit things that have only ever caused harm to befall others. She said they were evil, that they wre unnatural and -- along with the gods and goddesses themselves -- were never supposed to exist.

You wondered if she would change her tune if she ever found out a god had helped to heal her eldest daughter.

I doubt it, you frowned. Your mother is as stubborn as they come. And she had only taught you what her mother had taught her. As far as you knew, all the women on your mother's side of the family were expected to pass down the fear of gods -- of the "demons living in the skies."

“Jeez, what a bunch of bullshit," you scowled, shoving your bag into your work locker. Thoughts of your mother and her family always soiled your mood. And when you worked as a barkeep at the most popular bar in the village? Yeah, tips'll go way down.

***

Prompto lay on his back, Iris looking over his body. Since Lady Medella had died, her title as the Greater Goddess of Medicine had been imposed onto her daughter.

Iris's fingers traced the old scars littering the blond's stomach and chest, the god flinching at the sensation.

"Sorry," Iris mumbled. Her dark brows were knitted together as she looked at each of the silvery-white markings. Her frown deepened as her chocolate brown eyes flicked to the scars on the blond's wrists. Again, her fingers grazed the skin, before they went up to touch the scars on Prompto's face.

"Careful. Don't poke my eyes out," the blond joked, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He only succeeded in getting a whack to the back of the head, a yelp falling from his lips.

"This is the best I can do for you, Prompto," Iris grumbled, eyes cast to the floor. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and the blond could only guess what was running through her mind. Pulling his shirt over his head, Prompto gave the young goddess a gentle, familial smile.

"Hey, no sweat!" he grinned, ruffling her hair. His hand stopped, resting on her head as his expression turned sad. “Really, it’s cool, Iris. Man, it must _suck_ , having the others expecting you to fill your mother’s shoes so soon after--” Prompto cut himself short, sucking in a harsh breath. “I kinda get it, y’know? But don’t worry. It’ll get better -- _you’ll_ get better. And when you do, I’ll gladly be your first patient.” He waited until she raised her head before affixing his trademark crooked grin to his lips. With a final ruffle of her hair, Prompto gave her a small wave, heading for the door.

***

As Prompto left Iris’s little clinic -- aka, her Citadel apartment’s kitchen -- he had to lean against the door. A grimace replaced his smile and he rubbed at his temples.

“Shit.” With shaky, unsure steps, Prompto made his way back to his own chambers within the Citadel. Those he passed gave him worried looks, and at some point someone had called for Noctis.

“Hey, buddy,” Prompto grinned, holding a hand to the wall as support while the other pulled at his hair. He just wanted the pain to _stop._

“C’mon,” the prince whispered, pulling his friend’s arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get you to Dad.”

Noctis watched as the blond held his free hand to his head. And he kept watching, even as tears gathered in the blond’s eyes.

“It really, _really_ hurts, Noct,” Prompto whimpered. A sharp intake of breath, fingers tugging even harder at his roots. “I just want it to _go away_.”


	6. Chapter 6

Prompto was no stranger to nightmares, but the one that always came to him… it had a way of reducing the fun-loving god into a scared child. It had a way of digging its claws into him. It wasn’t that the images were particularly harrowing or gruesome -- far from it, actually.

The people were always the same, even if Prompto could never discern their faces. Their voices were always the same. Their actions never changed.

They were always attacking him -- with sticks, stone; anything and everything under the sun. And no matter how much he struggled, Prompto could never escape -- he was always strapped to something, be it a chair or exposed beam.

“Useless.”

“Freak of nature!”

“Your kind should just disappear!”

“We don’t need you self-proclaimed ‘gods’!”

 _Ah, that’s right_. They abused him with physical objects just as much as their words. They would abuse him until his skin blossomed with welts and bruises, until the scars were more than skin deep. And it always hurt, no matter how many times this nightmare repeated itself.

“I never loved you. Why would I love _you_ \-- why would I love a _monster_?”

***  
You lay in bed, gnawing on your bottom lip. You hadn’t seen or heard from the blond-haired god for nearly a full week -- not like you expected him to make himself known. Yet, what he had said before parting stuck with you.

_We’ll see each other again, soon._

With a grumble, you rolled onto your side. Your expression turned sour as the realization hit.

_He’s a god -- immortal. ‘Soon’ means something completely different in his world._

A small sniff as you huddled under the covers.

_I shouldn't have gotten my hope up after all._

***

 _Freak!_ _  
__Monster!_ __  
Worthless!

Those same three words rattled around in your head the next morning. They brought a frown to your features. You couldn’t remember anyone calling you such names in your entire life.

“Hey, are you okay, (Y/n)?” your sister asked as you walked into the small kitchen. When you didn’t respond, she continued working on breakfast, and you plopped into a chair. Holding your head in your hands, you released a groan, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. “You were tossin’ and turnin’ all night.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just a rough night at work.”

Your sister’s lips were pressed into a thin line as she placed your food before you.

“Are you sure that’s all it was?” she asked, taking your hand lightly. “Earlier, it sounded like a nightmare. (Y/n), if you’re having nightmares, then--”

“Not another word,” you growled, ripping your hand from hers. “I’m _fine_.”

Her features twisted with hurt, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care as you stabbed at the eggs and toast she had prepared.

Along with fear of gods, your mother’s family firmly believed that having nightmares were a sign of the end -- at least, for those having nightmares. You _really_ didn’t need your sister running her mouth to your mother, telling her you were having nightmares.

 _I’m not_ , you scowled. _They’re_ not _nightmares._

***

When Prompto woke, he was in his bedroom -- as were half of the residents of the Citadel. Noct sat to the right of Prompto’s bed, shoulders hunched and fingers steepled. Regis stood behind his son, a hand on the prince’s shoulder. Ignis and Gladio stood on either side of the door, both with arms crossed over their chests, while Cor was leaning against the wall opposite Prompto’s bed.

A warmth on the blond’s hand had him looking down to see Iris’s head resting on the comforter. Blond brows furrowed, Prompto sat up slowly, startling both Noct and Iris.

“Prompto!” Noct shot to his feet, fingers splayed across the bedsheets as he eyed the blond.

“How are you feeling?” Regis asked, clasping his son’s shoulder once again. Noct seemed to calm down somewhat as he sat back in the chair he had occupied. But his steel gray eyes never left the god who, just hours ago, was in too much pain to walk on his own.

“What… happened?” Prompto hissed in discomfort, a hand coming to massage his temples once again.

“You relapsed,” Iris spoke out, pouting. “Right after you left me, you--”

“Iris, enough,” Gladio’s gruff voice interrupted his sister as he approached the bed. A hand plopped onto her hair, Gladio turned him amber hues to the blond. “What matters is that the kid’s fine, right?”

While his words had been soft -- filled with a friend’s worry for a friend - the look he had given Prompto was anything but. Prompto could only nod, watching Gladio with wide eyes as he gulped.

“Y-yeah, I’m good,” Prompto sputtered, voice cracking. He _really_ didn’t want Gladio beating his ass for making Iris cry.


	7. Chapter 7

You didn’t try to see the god again for quite some time afterwards. Instead, you threw yourself into work -- running the flower shop you had started with your best friend between shifts at the bar. It had been almost two years since your friend disappeared one night, leaving you to tend to the blooms on your own.

But that didn’t mean you stopped thinking about him. Every night before you would fall asleep, he would be there, giving you that gentle smile. You always sat next to him in a field, fingers twined as his free hand would caress your cheek; his tongue uttering words that you could never hear; his lips leaving heated flesh in their wake when he would kiss you.

The jingling of the bell over the front door made you spin on your heel, a customary smile already etched onto your face. But it was quick to fall when you saw your mother standing in the doorway. Her thin lips were turned down in a frown, hands planted on her hips as she pierced you with her gaze.

“What do you want?” you snarled, glaring right back at the woman. You wanted to ignore her, to just go back to tending to the delicate flower at your back, but you didn’t trust her not to try something if your back was turned.

“Is that any way to speak to the woman who birthed and raised you?” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she stalked towards you. Her cold, hard eyes looked you up and down before a scowl settled on her features in place of the frown. “Such a disgrace to our family, you are. Running away to play peasant with a ‘friend’, only for them to dump you and disappear.”

“Get out,” you hissed. (E/c) hues burned with a fire rarely seen and your mother only smirked.

“I think you’ve had enough time to play around, Disgrace,” she hummed, bony fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards the door. Your eyes were wide as you noticed the car parked just outside the shop, and your body froze for merely a second before you began to fight against your mother’s grasp.

“No! Let me go!” Fingernails dug into the older woman’s flesh, and you tried to kick and thrash, only succeeding in knocking down various potted plants and displays. The sights and sounds made your heart ache, but you could always fix everything when you got free. _If_ you got free.

***

Prompto was restless. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus on the paperwork piling up on the table. He paced across the room, flexing and unflexing his hands as he went. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was so very _wrong_.

“How long has he been like this?” Noct asked Ignis quietly, watching the blond as he kept pacing.

“Since yesterday, I think,” the god of glass replied, pushing the glasses further up his nose. “He hasn’t been able to get any work done since.”

“You sure he’s not just blowing it off?” Gladio jumped in, plopping into the seat next to Noct. The prince only shook his head, leaning forward in his chair.

“That’s not it, Gladio,” the dark-haired god muttered. Concern was evident in his steel gray eyes, watching the way Prompto bit at his fingertips. “Something’s wrong. Like, _really_ wrong.” A sigh, then he continued, “I’m gonna go get Dad. Hopefully he’ll have an idea of what’s going on.”

***

You were huddled in a corner, (e/c) orbs trained on the bruise that had formed on your wrist from where your mother had dragged you. It hurt to move it, hurt even more to keep it still. Tears had slipped from your eyes as soon as reality set in; you doubted you’d be able to escape this hell again.

You had been a teenager when you had left this house the first time, barely breaking adulthood when you did. At first, you had thought your mother would chase after you, but she hadn’t. Hadn’t even tried to contact you until today.

Although they were already healed, you could see all of the scars, all the bruises that came from living under your mother’s thumb. You could feel all of the pain that she had caused you, as the eldest of her children; all the pain your siblings no doubt were forced to endure after you had left.

Now here you were, stuck in your old bedroom, armed guards at your door to keep you from leaving and windows barred shut. Not that you could escape from the windows anyway; your room was on the third floor, and a drop from that height would surely kill you.

You curled into yourself as the tears began anew, trying your best to keep them quiet so as not to alert the guards. Unbidden, a prayer formed in your mind and fell from your tongue.

“Gods, please. I just want to leave this place,” you croaked out. And although you had prayed to the gods in general, only one had popped into your mind. You just hope he heard your pleas.


	8. Chapter 8

Prompto sat in one of the chairs in his living room, right leg bouncing uncontrollably. He had no idea why he felt so …  _ wrong _ . Like something terrible had happened. Nothing had -- Noct was safe, Gladio and Ignis were completely fine, there weren’t any gods or goddesses causing havoc within Insomnia, you were--

Blue eyes widened as his head shot up, unadulterated fear present on his features. How could he have forgotten about you? He shot to his feet, ready to travel to Eos to check on you when hands grabbed at him.

“Guys, let go!” he hissed, tearing himself from their grasp.

“What’s going on, Prompto?” Ignis asked quickly, already readjusting his grip on the blond. Prompto turned his eyes to the gods, looking at him incredulously.

“Are you serious?” He surveyed the looks on Gladio’s and Noct’s faces, jaw dropping just a little. “You guys… you don’t feel like something’s wrong? That something bad happened?”

“The only thing wrong here is your attitude, kid,” Gladio huffed. His words set Prompto off and the blond whirled around and skewered him with a hard glare. He was about to open his mouth when he heard your voice filter through his ears.

_ Gods, please. I just want to leave this place. _

Noct watched as Prompto’s body went rigid, as both Gladio and Iggy relaxed their grasp on the blond. As Prompto shot from the room like a rocket, leaving them in his dust.

Prompto raced through the halls of the Citadel, weaving between gods in his way as he made his way to the front doors. He didn’t stop to apologize; he  _ couldn’t _ \-- there wasn’t time to be polite if you were in danger.

“Prompto, wait!” He heard Noct call out for him, but paid him no heed. There was only one thing on his mind, and that was getting to you as fast as he could. “Prompto!”

As soon as the blond burst from the door, he went to shatter and a hand gripping his wrist caused him to pause. He spun around, fixing a glare on Noct.

“Let go,” he hissed, trying to reclaim his wrist.

“Not until you tell me what’s going--”

“Noctis, let him go,” Regis called as he approached. Noct turned a confused expression to his father, but did as he was told and released the blond. Prompto wasted no time with shattering, leaving behind a crowd of confused immortals.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“I shall tell you everything, but first you must follow after Prompto, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble when he tries to help her,” Regis smiled. Noct was about to ask again when his father’s words processed fully. Noct was equally quick to shatter, his only thoughts of helping his best friend.

***

You shivered against the frigid words being hurled at you by your younger siblings. They had heard from your mother that you had returned, and had immediately crammed into the room to taunt you.

“Mother is right, you truly are a disgrace to our family,” Your oldest brother snarled, his spit landing on your arm. You tried huddling deeper in the corner, which only drew howling laughter from your younger siblings.

“You’re the oldest, and yet you’re such a pussy!” one of your sisters chortled. Something connected with your stomach and you gasped as your sister kicked you. “What a humiliation!”

“I’m surprised Mother didn’t just get rid of you when she had the chance. You’re useless to this family.”

“Mother was  _ so  _ heartbroken when you left. Kept saying that she wished you had never been born!”

With each new insult they threw at you, the more they would hit and kick you until you were a wheezing, sobbing mess on the floor.

“That’s enough,” your mother called from the doorway, arms crossed and a frown on her face. Your siblings exchanged looks, glaring at you before being escorted out of the room. You didn’t move from where you were laying on your side. It hurt to breathe, and you just wanted to sleep, but your mother had other plans, apparently.

“Such a sorry state you’re in, dear,” your mother cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You wanted to spit at her, to hit her, anything -- but your body wouldn’t move. She fisted a hand on your hair, pulling you up to meet her gaze. “You should have stayed here, (Y/n). You should have continued to live with me, and none of this would have happened.” She released your hair and smiled as you head hit the wood with a  _ thunk _ , the sound making you grimace. “Sweet dreams, little disgrace.”


End file.
